


Angels Were Made To Obey

by comtessedebussy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blasphemy, Dirty Talk, Face-Fucking, First Time, Kink Meme, Light Bondage, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Riding Crop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 03:30:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/646076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comtessedebussy/pseuds/comtessedebussy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean promised Castiel that he wouldn't let the angel die a virgin, he kept his word - but nothing more than that. </p><p>Several years later, Crowley demands sex rather than a kiss to seal their arrangement, but Cas turns this right back at him and makes regular sex lessons part of the terms and conditions. He vows he will learn all the things he hadn't known his first time.<br/>When Dean finds out, however, Castiel realizes he may have miscalculated. </p><p>Lots of porn and even more angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angels Were Made To Obey

**Author's Note:**

> written for a prompt at the kink meme (see endnotes for full prompt).
> 
> Also, thanks to my wonderful beta Stephanie!
> 
> Also, comments are very, very welcome - this is the first time I've written anything this long and written a story rather than just a scene.

I am the Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last, the Beginning and the End. – Revelations 22:13.

 

**Prologue**

“There are two things I know for sure. One, Bert and Ernie are gay. Two, I’m not letting you die a virgin.”

Castiel hadn’t the foggiest idea  Bert and Ernie were, or why their supposed homosexuality was worth noting. He did know, however, that Dean Winchester followed through on his promises, and this was not likely to be an exception. That’s what scared him.

The brothel obviously hadn't worked. Castiel had tried, he really had, because apparently this sex thing was an integral part of being human and Dean wanted to introduce him to being human. The girl had been pretty and kind; she hid the pain about a father that abandoned her just as Dean did, putting on a bright smile that looked so achingly familiar. Castiel just couldn’t stop himself from putting a hand on her shoulder, looking at her gently and saying that it wasn’t her fault. He had expected a glance of intimacy in return, but she fled at his attempts, leaving him wondering why she rejected his comfort.

That’s how they ended up back at the motel. “I keep my promises, Cas,” Dean told him, and Cas looked on Dean with gratitude, thinking that here, at least, was a man he could comfort. It was almost a relief when Dean kissed him-slowly and tenderly, giving Castiel time to acclimatize himself-and Cas returned the kiss with the same tenderness, mimicking Dean’s motions as best he could. When they broke apart Castiel dropped to his knees and looked up at Dean. It felt right.

 “Cas – “

“I want to worship you, Dean.”

 “Cas, come on, not like this…” Dean paused, seeing Castiel’s hurt and confusion. “This is supposed to make you feel good, man. Come on, get up here.”

Castiel rose obediently, and somehow, with Dean’s guidance, they ended up on the bed, Dean on top and still kissing Castiel gently. Castiel  clung to him,  Dean's presence a comfort, though Castiel still felt anxious as  he remembered his own inexperience.

Dean sat up, carefully divesting Castiel of his clothing. His bright green eyes hadn't moved from Castiel’s face, searching it for – joy? Pleasure? Castiel did his best to hide his fears and look back at Dean with what he hoped was trust. “If you want me to stop, you say so, all right, Cas?”

Cas swallowed his worries and nodded.

He found himself suddenly naked, his thoughts and trepidations having filled the time it took Dean to remove his layers. Dean’s kisses were on him again, moving softly from Castiel's lips to his neck, down his chest, pausing to suck gently on his nipples until Castiel clutched at Dean in overwhelmed pleasure. He was even more terrified now. There was no way he would be able to return the favor like that. He moved his hands up from Dean’s waist and Dean took the hint, divesting himself of his own layers, allowing Castiel’s hands to roam and explore. They wandered lovingly across the scars and burns on the hunter’s body. Oh, how he wanted to make Dean forget the memories of those past hurts with a worshipping of his body.

Then Dean’s lips were on his hips, moving lower, and lower still, until Castiel’s hands could only tangle in Dean’s hair. Dean looked up at him again - those green eyes searching his face for a denial he apparently didn't believe Castiel would vocalize – before taking him in his mouth.

And just like that, Castiel was lost. It was good. Not simply pleasurable, but good. Castiel had always thought that God was good, and he still believed it. He believed God’s creations were good. He knew that acts of prayer and worship were good. And this, too, was good. Even if he was falling, as he suspected he might be, he knew that what he had chosen was good. His fall was an act of faith.

His hands played gently with Dean’s hair; he didn’t know what else to do with them. And Dean was still being so….good. Dean filling him with a fervor and an ecstasy he has known before, but under different circumstances, when he was still a loyal servant of heaven.

“Dean…” he whispered. He had to say that name. That name encompassed everything just as Dean encompassed everything. From him and through him and to him are all things.

Dean lifted his lips from Castiel to whisper a quiet reassurance, his hands stilling on Castiel’s hips, and then he goes back to his work (to his worship. That was Castiel’s word. There could be no other). There was nothing but Dean’s tongue and Dean’s lips and Dean’s hands, there was nothing but Dean, there could never be anything but Dean. He is eternal and forever and nothing could be without Dean.

But it was wrong that Castiel was being worshipped when he himself should worship, wrong to receive without giving. His hands tightened involuntarily in Dean’s hair, and he seized up.

 “Dean,” he says again, an offering of _something._

“Almost there, Cas,” Dean whispered, and Cas could only nod because Dean wanted so badly to make this good. Castiel cannot refuse him.

When Castiel came, it was an experience that he had never even come close to imagining. As an angel he had seen millennia, lived through the history of the world from the dawn of humanity. He had seen things most humans cannot imagine and imagined the ones that did not exist. But he had never imagined this, and for a minute he felt the way humans must who cannot even begin to imagine God in the entirety of his glory. He didn’t want to feel such a glorious feeling in silence, but no sound in God’s universe could have come close to representing what he was feeling. He clung to Dean, lips parted and eyes full of wonder, and hoped Dean had understood.

In his infinite wisdom, Dean understood. Dean held him through his orgasm, whispering soothing words until Castiel stilled and looked back at Dean. The first thing he saw, after those piercing green eyes, is a smirk of satisfaction.

“Good, huh? I keep my promises, Cas.”

Of course he does. Dean’s promises are his words and his words are law.

Castiel  reached for him. “Dean, use me, please,” he had begged, gesturing towards Dean’s own obvious erection wishing to return the favor.

“Nah, I’ll take care of it. You just relax. It’s called enjoying the afterglow.”

Dean went into the bathroom, and though Castiel heard no sound, he knew Dean must be “taking care” of it. He sank back into the pillows and looked up sadly at Heaven.

**…......**

“I’m going to need a bit more than a kiss to seal this deal, Castiel,” Crowley tells him.

Castiel looks him up and down piercingly.

“No,” he says.

“A deal’s a deal, Castiel. There are certain rules, or it’s off.”

Castiel glares at him.

“Then I am altering our deal.”

Crowley raises his eyebrows.

“Oh? Careful, or I might change my mind about it all..”

“You won’t,” Castiel cuts him off, and he’s obvious right, because all that Crowley proffers is an “I’m listening.”

“You will teach me the ways of…intimacy. Sealing the deal included.”

“ _Castiel,”_ Crowley looks awed. “Are you saying that you’re going to let a _demon_ fuck an _angel?”_

“There are certain conditions, of course. I am not here for your pleasure. Consider it part of your job.”

Crowley smirks. “My job. Of course.”

Castiel thinks the look in Crowley’s eyes is a little too knowing for his comfort.

…...

That’s how he ends up in Crowley’s bedroom, stretched out on Crowley’s luxurious bed, with the demon atop him. Crowley had insisted that he lie back and “enjoy the experience”. Castiel had protested that that wasn’t the point, but Crowley had silenced him. “All in good time, Castiel. Trust me a bit, would you?” Castiel fumed a bit but obeyed.

He lies back and closes his eyes.

Angels have powerful imaginations. Not that they ever use them – they are made to obey, not think. But when they do think, they can do it just as powerfully as they can smite. Castiel can close his eyes and think of Dean.

He lies still as Crowley takes his time exploring his body. He has given this body over to Crowley, and the demon is learning its intricacies, its quirks and irregularities. He is familiarizing himself with the territory, taking his time to study the beast that he will have to tame. Castiel knows all this, he can guess it from the careful, contained way Crowley’s caresses are followed by steady silences, but his eyes are closed and his imagination is powerful. That is Dean, running his mouth gently over skin; Dean, sucking on his nipple gently and eliciting a shiver before biting down and evoking a small moan. Those are Dean’s lips on his neck, Dean’s teeth as they bite into his shoulder and Dean who watches the reaction. It is Dean who kisses the inside of his thigh and watches him tremble, Dean who runs fingers gently overs his balls and licks a stripe up his cock. It is Dean’s fingers inside him, gentle and then assertive.  Then it is Dean pushing in, stretching him, claiming his body that does not feel ready for it, Dean taking his pleasure in Castiel’s body as Castiel takes pleasure in giving it. Crowley makes no sounds; he is a mute observer, almost a scientist preparing to work his own changes upon the pliant body beneath him. He pounds into Castiel and stifles any sounds of pleasure and Castiel feels nothing but Dean, Dean using him and then bringing him close. When he comes, it is all he can do to keep the word “Dean” from his lips.

When he opens his eyes, the reality is jarring. Crowley stares down at him, looking like he hasn’t missed a single thing.

“ _Castiel,”_ Crowley complains. “Coming when you want, without my permission? You _bad angel,”_ he intones.

“I do not need your permission for my pleasure,” Castiel responds abruptly.

Crowley tilts his head to the side.

“It is not about your pleasure, Castiel, but his.”

Castiel starts. He had not mentioned Dean Winchester, but Crowley, it seems, understands all too well.

“Ah, Castiel. So much for you to learn.” He pauses. “So much for me to _teach,”_ he says gleefully.

….

They begin the next day.

“There are certain rules, Castiel,” Crowley says. “Rules you must follow. Do you know why?”

Castiel does not respond. He’s signed up for this, but that doesn’t make the certainty in Crowley’s knowing tone any less irksome.

 “Because you are here to learn to be used, Castiel. You are not here to take pleasure but to provide it, and if you enjoy it, it is only because _he_ ”-Crowley stresses the word –“allows you  to.”

Castiel attempts to protest but Crowley silences it with a knowing look and continues, pacing, reveling in attention he has claimed through his knowledge. 

“You need to learn to obey, Castiel. You think that if you just close your eyes and think of your Winchester, you will be ready to accept anything. But that’s not how it works. Dean Winchester will want you to do things you do not want to do, and you must learn to _obey._ ”

Crowley pauses. Castiel abandons any idea of denying that it is about Dean Winchester.

“Strange, to be teaching an angel to obey. That is what you are made for, is it not? To serve? And you serve Dean Winchester as you once served God. But you rebelled against your God once, and one day, Castiel, you will rebel against your God a second time, unless you are taught to obey.”

Castiel bows his head and vows it will never happen. He vows that he will learn to obey.

 “Now that that’s settled: the rules, Castiel. Only a few simple ones. You do what I tell you. You come when I tell you and you do not come if I do not tell you. And if I tell you to look at me, Castiel,” Crowley meets his gaze, and his eyes bore into Castiel, “you will look at me. _Capisce?_ ”

Castiel nods. Crowley orders him onto the bed and he stretches himself out again on the expanse of black silk and waits.

Crowley stands above him and looks down.

“Ever heard of the story of Snow White, Castiel? Of how she lay, pale and beautiful, and how a young prince was drawn to her cold, motionless form? He liked her body pliant and lifeless and unresisting.”

Crowley pauses. Castiel pretends it’s a rhetorical question. Maybe it is.

“You are not Snow White, Castiel. The point is not simply for you to submit but for you to enjoy it. You give yourself over to being used and you do more than just take what’s given to you. You _enjoy_ it. Crowley perches on the edge of the bed and runs his fingers over the skin of Castiel’s chest. “You can do that, can’t you, Castiel?”

“Yes,” Castiel answers curtly. Crowley sure does love to hear himself talk, he thinks.

“Good,” Crowley murmurs into his ear, settling atop Castiel. “Look at me this time, Castiel.  I want you to see exactly what I’m doing to you.” Crowley traces the outlines of Castiel’s ribs, so slowly it’s almost as if he’s writing his ownership in each one. A shiver runs through Castiel at the thought of marks left as a claim on flesh and bone.

Crowley’s mouth is so talented that at first Castiel thinks that somehow, for some unknown reason, Crowley is making it good for him, each kiss and caress so acutely felt he wonders how that’s possible. There’s kisses everywhere, at the crook of his neck, right over his heart, at his hip, everywhere are Crowley’s lips. He trembles at the first touch, and the next, and the next.

 “So sensitive…so responsive,” Crowley whispers, and there’s almost pride in his tone. “You can’t resist, can you? It’s delightful. Whatever I do to your body, it responds. That’s good, Castiel.”

His mouth continues working over his skin, relishing each response of the angel’s sensitive body. Crowley’s acclimatizing him to these touches and he relishes each one, shares his pleasure with the demon providing it, until he lifts his hips and begs for more of Crowley’s fingers as they follow his lips on Castiel’s skin.

Eventually Crowley’s fingers make it inside Castiel and he gasps; he holds Crowley’s gaze and it’s disconcerting, being almost put on display, staring into Crowley’s eyes as if he’s offering himself up, and Crowley doesn’t miss a beat, his fingers open Castiel up as he holds those blue eyes. “You like this, Castiel? Offering yourself up like this? I know you do.” Crowley’s slower this time, opening him up, and staring at Castiel through the whole thing until Castiel wants to flinch away from it all, from the way Crowley is so steadfastly _not_ claiming him but reveling in Castiel’s offering of himself.

“ _Good,”_ Crowley intones. “Get used to this, Castiel.”

Then Crowley’s inside him, and Castiel is still holding his gaze, and still feeling disconcertingly on display. 

“Whore, offering yourself up like this, Castiel. You don’t think this is for my pleasure? But I can’t teach you without enjoying it, Castiel, like it or not, you’re going to end up being _used,_ but you do like it.”

Crowley forces himself inside with each thrust as if it’s his territory, and instead of rebelling against this unholy claim, Castiel feels his orgasm building again. He keeps his eyes on Crowley, holds his gaze, and that’s all that keeps him from going over the edge. It’s _Crowley,_ but it’s still so good. It should not be this good, Crowley is a _demon,_ how can this be so _good?_ It is not for him that Castiel is learning to be used, but Crowley uses him so perfectly that he almost ceases to know the differences. Isn’t it all the same, all these acts of worship? Does it matter? _Yes,_ a small voice responds inside his head, and he stifles it.

Crowley hits his prostate just right and Castiel lets out a stuttered gasp; the demon can tell he’s close, and barely holding himself back, for he slows, rocking back and forth, watching as Castiel gains some measure of control over himself before picking up the pace again, driving in, coming inside Castiel, claiming and marking.

Castiel hates being claimed like that, because he doesn’t _belong_ to Crowley, but the difference is becoming so hazy. And then Crowley’s gentle as he leans down and whispers a word of permission. “Whore,” he mutters the praise into Castiel’s ear, and Castiel comes.

…....

The next day, Crowley attempts to teach Castiel to give a blowjob. He orders the angel to kneel, and Castiel lowers himself with all the grace he can muster. He keeps his eyes open this time, ready to simply take Crowley’s length into his mouth before the demon stops him.

“Not so fast. Worship it,” Crowley orders. Castiel takes a deep breath and places a kiss on the tip, working his kisses up and down the length to the sounds of Crowley’s approval. He tunes them out just as he tunes out the person they belong to, focusing on the motions. He’s almost starting to enjoy it when Crowley orders him to get on with it. Castiel opens his mouth and attempts to take in all of it, which doesn’t work too well; he chokes and gags and withdraws. Crowley sighs as Castiel starts moving up and down experimentally, but Crowley’s big and Castiel’s mouth feels way too small and way too full and his teeth start getting in the way. Eventually Crowley growls in frustration, grabs Castiel by the hair, orders him to hold still and starts fucking his face.

Castiel flinches away, but Crowley’s grip is tight and Castiel could only get away if he used his angel strength. “Hold still and _look at me,_ ” Crowley orders. Castiel looks up at Crowley and attempts to avoid gagging as Crowley’s large length fills him up way too far. He attempts to cough and Crowley ignores him and continues his thrusts. And now Crowley’s talking, too, a ceaseless string of words.

“Look at me, Castiel. Look at my face. This is what he’s going to look like when he’s using you. I hope you like being used like a fucking whore, because that’s exactly how he’s going to use you. He’s going to call you a whore, too, because that’s what you are, and you’re going to like it because that’s what he wants you to be. And you’re going to take it. And you’re going to get off on it…aren’t you? _Aren’t you?”_  Crowley keeps up a veritable monologue, and it’s all Castiel can do to convince himself that Crowley’s simply attempting to hide how much he’s enjoying this. He refuses to believe that Crowley’s telling him what he knows Castiel wants to hear.

 “Whore,” Crowley says, the “H’ sound of it rough and harsh. “ _Whore,”_ Crowley says again, not missing a beat with his thrusts, and Castiel comes at the simple word.

“ _Castiel,”_ Crowley says in exasperation. “I’m going to have to punish you for this.” Castiel wants to respond, threaten, say he doesn’t fear Crowley’s punishments but his mouth is still exasperatingly full of dick. Crowley takes his sweet time until Castiel wants to scream with impatience, then comes in Castiel’s throat and orders him to swallow.

…

As soon as they’re done, Castiel disappears. He flies and he thinks. He thinks first of Dean, because he always thinks of Dean, and feels a twinge of longing inside him. He longs to kneel at Dean’s feet, but that reminds him of how he’d knelt before Crowley, and he feels a twinge of guilt that is hardly unexpected. He is learning to worship, he tells himself. It does not matter that a demon is teaching him. Demons have faith too, even if that faith is in this that are evil. Demons believe in Lucifer as he believes in God. As above, so below, worship was the same, he reminds himself. And he was an angel. He was made for these sacred things.

Crowley had called him a whore. He knew what such a thing was, of course. Chastity had been a whore as well. It was not an insult. That was what she was: she allowed herself to be used for pleasure. That was what Castiel was, as well, what he was learning to be. The way Crowley had said it, heaping it upon Castiel like so much dirt, made it an insult. But it was, quite simply, what he strove to be. It should not scare him that he took so much pleasure in that very word. He was here to learn to kneel, so it really should not scare him that he was so very good at it.

…

Castiel is surprised at Crowley’s gentle kiss the next day. The demon has promised punishment and Castiel had no doubt it was coming. The thought made him tense up, not in fear, but in a vague uncertainty. He knows what true punishments entail; he still remembers Heaven. But sex is a strange mix of pleasure and frustration and he does not know if Crowley will punish him with pleasure or with agony. The gentle way Crowley kisses his way across the most sensitive spots on his body disconcerts him even as he tries to enjoy each touch.

Eventually Crowley breaks away and Castiel’s almost reluctant to let him go. His skin is flushed, his cock asking for attention and for some reason Crowley’s hands find their way to it, teasing it gently. Castiel rocks back and forth, seeking friction, when he feels something cold and metallic that Crowley snaps around the base.

“You bastard – “ Castiel begins.

“You should be thanking me, hon. Since you clearly can’t follow my orders without it, this’ll save you a few punishments.” Crowley winks. “Now, on your knees.”

Castiel kneels gracefully; damn angel is graceful even when he’s aroused and desperate, Crowley thinks. “Now, let’s try this again. And if you succeed, you get to come.”

Castiel has always been stubborn. He thinks it might very well be an angelic trait, though it seems to be one of Dean’s distinguishing characteristics as well. He doesn’t like rising to petty challenges because they’re, well, petty, but something about Crowley pisses him off. It’s the way he gloats without actually gloating. He vows he’ll get this right. He’ll show the demon that an angel is better at these sacred things than a demon could ever be.

He starts off as he did this time, gentle kisses up and down the length, then tongue, licking up and down, before taking the tip into his mouth and sucking on it. Then he takes more of Crowley’s length in his mouth, as much as he comfortably can, alternating his movements between slow and fast, taking care for his teeth not to get in the way. Crowley seems satisfied, because his usual dirty talk isn’t spilling out with the same ease. “Mmms” and “yes” tumble out, interspersed by “whore,” and, sometimes, “dirty little whore.” Once he even gets a sentence out, saying “good little whore’s learned to suck cock.” A shiver runs through Castiel at those words. He feels his own swollen cock straining against the ring.

Crowley grips his hair suddenly, forcing himself to still. Castiel’s confused for a second – he thought he was doing a fairly decent job and that Crowley was close. But then Crowley orders him to close his eyes. He obeys and he thinks of a righteous man as he feels come paint his face.

It’s only then that he feels the ring around his own reaction loosen with a snap of Crowley’s fingers. “Whore,” Crowley says again and Castiel feels the sweet bliss of release.

….

“Ah, Castiel, lovely of you to stop by. Would you hand me that knife over there?”

Crowley’s in a cheery mood today; either he’s had some great fun torturing today, he’s making progress at finding Purgatory, or both. It should really lift up Castiel’s mood, but it doesn’t.

“You get your own knife,” he snaps. “You’re the one taking orders from me around here.”

Crowley smiles.

“Of course, Castiel,” he says softly. “Wouldn’t dream of it being any other way.” He winks and walks over to grab the knife off the table by Castiel’s hand.

“If you want an update, well, things are progressing quite well. How was your day, love?”

“Fine,” Castiel snaps before disappearing.

…

The first time Crowley takes out the riding crop, Castiel is confused.

“I don’t understand,” he says. “It is not about pain.”

“Oh, but it is,” Crowley drawled.

Castiel shook his head. “Dean would not want to hurt me.” He has given up on denying that it is about Dean.

“You don’t know Dean Winchester very well, then.”

Normally, he would refuse to believe Crowley’s words. But Crowley had already proven that he knew too much without being told, and Castiel’s beginning to fear he doesn’t understand Dean Winchester as well as he thought he did.

“Dean Winchester does not live to cause pain. He hates himself for having done it in Hell.”

“He hates that he liked it. He wants to make people hurt, but he doesn’t want the terrible guilt and repercussions. You can provide him with that, can’t you? He can mark you up as much as he wants and at the end of the day you’ll be good as new, like those souls in Hell. But unlike the souls in Hell, you’re not going to beg him to stop. You’re going to beg him for more.”

Castiel knows it’s true.

 “Now, if you would kneel for me, Cas, we need to take care of your punishment. Or did you think you’d be getting away without one?”

Castiel obeys. He kneels and closes his eyes.

He knows Crowley is standing behind him, motionless for a reason Castiel does not fathom. Crowley makes a blow, a second one, and Castiel keeps his eyes closed and thinks of Dean and does not let out a sound.

Crowley hits harder.

“Come on, Castiel. I want to hear you. Make those dirty whore sounds. Go ahead. You like this.”

It’s almost pathetic how fast the pain gets him off.

Crowley stops. There’s silence for a few seconds before the demon gives an order. “Open your eyes.”

Castiel obeys. The first thing he sees is himself; Crowley’s made him kneel before a full-length mirror, and he comes face to face with his own naked, kneeling self. He’s never seen himself either naked or aroused before, and the site is…disconcerting. Flushed, breathless, messy, and above all, kneeling before a demon, said demon still fully clothed and holding the crop he’s just marked Castiel up with. He takes in a surprised breath. Crowley chuckles.

“Take a good long look, Castiel,” he drawls. “This is what Dean Winchester is going to see. That’s what he’s going to reduce you to, and,” Crowley leans down to whisper in Castiel’s ear, “ _you’re going to like it.”_ Those words are enough to get him hard again, and it’s only been a goddamned minute. Ah, the difficulties of being an angel.

Crowley’s done gloating now, returning to his disapproving self.

“You came without permission again, Castiel. What am I going to _do_ with you when even your punishments require more punishments?”

…..

The ring is back around his cock the next day as he kneels. He’s in the same place, the mirror before them, and Crowley stands behind him again. The cuts are healed – Crowley was right- being an angel meant being marked up as much as anyone wanted and being good as new minutes later, and he’s offering up pale, pristine skin yet again.

“You will look at me, and you are going to count. Nice and clear, Castiel,” Crowley commands.

Castiel obeys. He looks and he counts. He keeps his eyes on Crowley, though occasionally they wander down to his own reflection. He sees his own pupils, lust blown, the flush of desire on his own body, and quickly looks back up at Crowley. He nearly miscounts and Crowley hits him harder, forcing out a breathless “seven.”

Crowley pauses and Castiel shifts in anticipation.

“I forgot what number we were going up to, Castiel. You got any suggestions?”

Castiel is silent, but his eyes shoot daggers.

“No? Hmmm…” Crowley runs the tip of the crop over the welts Castiel feels on his back. He shivers slightly. “There’s still so much unmarked skin, Castiel, and we need to make up for yesterday, too….” He trails off thoughtfully.

“Just get on with it already,” Castiel snaps.

“Oh?” Crowley glances down. “Are you asking to be punished, Castiel?”

“No,” Castiel snaps immediately.

“No,” Crowley parrots. “Of course not, you wouldn’t, would you, Castiel? In that case…”

He walks slowly around to stand before Castiel, mercifully blocking the view into the mirror.

“Get me off. If you manage it, you get to come.” Castiel’s about to breathe a sigh of relief – he’s managed this before – before Crowley adds. “And take it down all the way this time, Castiel.”

Castiel hesitates. He glances up at Crowley, but the demon gives no instructions. In resignation, Castiel begins as he did this time, with the soft kisses, before Crowley stops him.

“In your mouth. Now, Castiel.”

With another sigh, Castiel opens his mouth. It had been so much easier when Crowley just used him, but that, he suspected, was the point. Being used required work sometimes.

He takes the bulging cock until he feels it hit the back of his throat and manages not to gag on it this time. Crowley gives a hum of approval. Castiel starts to pull off, tries to repeat the back and forth motion that’s served him so well before, but Crowley stills him with a short “no” and thrusts back in. Surprised, Castiel gives a sputter but manages not to pull away. “Swallow,” he orders, and Castiel swallows around the cock filling his mouth. Crowley lets out another sound of approval, and Castiel repeats the motion. He attempts to begin moving again, thinking surely this must be frustrating, but Crowley stills him.

“Angels don’t need to breathe, do they?” he asks, knowing full well both the answer and the fact that Castiel could hardly respond. “Good. Then I’ll just keep this here. Need to get you used to the feeling, Castiel.” Crowley begins playing with Castiel’s hair, and it’s almost soothing, the way his fingers run through the strands, taking his thoughts off the aching that’s beginning in his jaw.

He’s getting impatient, feeling frustratingly full and completely empty, longing to use his tongue and the things he’s learned, anything other than this motionless feeling of uselessness. For some reason, he starts humming.

Crowley’s reaction is immediate and pleased.

“ _Good,”_ he says, and Castiel continues, humming random notes in an order that forms no coherent melody. Crowley seems to like it and Castiel feels the smug satisfaction of having figured it out himself. Taking advantage of Crowley’s momentary approval, Castiel begins moving, and Crowley doesn’t seem to mind. Castiel moves slowly, swirling his tongue around Crowley’s length. He takes Crowley all the way down each time, and somehow manages to barely flinch ever time the demon’s cock hits the back of his throat.

Crowley’s _really_ pleased now.

“Good, Castiel. Good little whore, figured it out all on your own. _Very good._ Mmmm….yes, just like that,” he continues as Castiel sucks on the tip before swallowing all the way again.

“I can’t decide whether I want to come on that pretty face or not,” he says, and Castiel thinks that he’s actually asking, not just taunting.

Castiel swallows around Crowley’s cock in response.

“Hmm…I’ll take that – “ he breaks off as Castiel does something ungodly ( _could_ an angel do something ungodly?) with his tongue. “under consideration.”

The string of dirty words is lost now as Castiel sucks and swallows and humms, alternating, his next movement always a surprise. It isn’t long before Crowley was coming, cock deep in Castiel’s throat, and Castiel swallows it all down.

Then he looks up at Crowley. His eyes aren’t begging – An angel of the lord did not beg a demon, but there was a ….request in his eyes.

“You’ve done well. I think you deserve a reward, Castiel.”

Crowley takes up the riding crop again and stands behind Castiel. The angel feels the ring restraining his own erection come off and closes his eyes in anticipation.

Crowley doesn’t make him count this time, and he comes even faster than the previous night.

…

When Crowley ties him up, he fails to see the point. He could break through the restraints easily and he also fails to see the point of restraining him for something he’s willing to do anyway.

When he says so, Crowley sighs and raises his eyes to the heavens dramatically. “What am I going to do with you?” he asks, a martyr’s expression on his face.

“Stop it,” Castiel orders. “You have a job, now _do it.”_

“ _Castiel,”_ Crowley drawls warningly. “You know perfectly well that the only one giving orders here…is _me.”_

Castiel knows this. It’s almost stopped irritating him, though the ease with which he obeys still worries him in the back of his mind.

He sighs, but doesn’t respond.

“It’s about a couple of things, Castiel. Trust – which I think I may just have started to earn, dearest – and submission. You’re going to _let_ me tie you up, Castiel, because you _want_ to submit. Don’t you?”

Castiel thinks that Crowley knows too much without being told.

“Give me your hands,” he orders, and Castiel holds out his wrists. Crowley ties an expert knot, though they both know the angel could break through it with ease. Crowley adds several sigils, burns them into the rope as Castiel watches. He looks up at Crowley in hesitation when the demon finishes. He’s never been this helpless before the demon, and it’s disconcerting how unimpressed Crowley seems to be by the fact.

“Lie down for me, sweetie,” he says.

Castiel lies on the familiar bed, and Crowley uses yet another rope to attach his bound wrists to the headboard. Castiel watches the demon work, regards him as he tugs on the rope, all with slow grace, his silken tie tickling Castiel’s side gently as he bends over. Crowley leaves a delicate kiss at the edge of his lip, whispers “my angel” into Castiel’s mouth. Castiel blinks at the sudden gentle words.

Then Crowley leaves.

Castiel isn’t too worried at first. He knows Crowley is screwing with him and testing his patience. And Castiel’s done a lot of waiting in his long existence. He simply relaxes and lets his mind wander off. He thinks of Dean, of his green eyes, of the freckles peppering his skin, of his hands, the one that had held Castiel down. He liked Dean’s hands. They were able, whether they were manning a shotgun or working over his skin. He thinks of Dean’s lips, the way they smile smugly and make wisecracks and the way they had looked, wide and full, around Castiel.

This, Castiel realizes belatedly, is a very bad road to go down. His cock starts taking interest at the thoughts, swelling slowly, and of course Castiel can’t do anything about it.

Not that he would. Not without permission.

He shifts and attempts to take his mind away. He thinks of the stars in the sky, the millions that he has counted. The humans have given them names, and the angels named them too. He goes through the catalogue mentally, imagining each one as it burns, tasting its name on his lips. But their burning light just reminds him of Dean’s soul and he gives up on that too.

There must be _something_ in this world that doesn’t remind him of Dean.

He thinks of demons and of Hell. Hell and damnation are so far from anything good. But Dean was in Hell once, Dean hunted demons, and as much as Castiel tried to take his mind away to thoughts of evil, the same image came before his eyes, seared into his mind, of Dean Winchester’s soul burning brightly in Hell.

He sighs and tests the bonds. They’re tight, the sigils inscribed with precision, and he knows that breaking free is helpless.

It’s been a half an hour now, and Crowley’s nowhere to be seen. Castiel starts getting nervous. It’s not like Crowley doesn’t have enemies; Hell, perhaps even Dean found Crowley and the demon is dead and then Dean would walk in and find him like this, utterly helpless…

_Dammit._

Of all the things he could be worrying about.

He attempts to plan out battle tactics. Crowley’s been at his experiments for a few months and the demon seemed to be making at least slight progress. But it was all Castiel could do to keep Raphael at bay. More and more angels died each day and Castiel counted the numbers and hated reducing each one to a mere statistic as he weighed the odds, but what was he to do? He was fighting a war, and in war there were casualties. And he was fighting this war for….

_Dammit._

At this point, Castiel gives up. He throws down all the barriers and allows thoughts of Dean flood in. Dean kissing him, Dean drinking a beer (the way those lips wrapped around a beer bottle…), Dean bending over to play pool, Dean driving the Impala, Dean loading a gun, Dean helpless in his arms after he’d beaten the man bloody in an alleyway (Castiel flinches as he thinks of Dean, _Dean,_ helpless before him). He thinks of what he would do for Dean one day. How he would kneel and make Dean say _his_ name in wonder. How he would lay Dean on the bed gently and kiss every inch of that body….no. That’s not what he would do. That’s not how it would go. He would kneel before Dean and Dean would tell him what to do. Dean would take him by the hair and hold his head still and have his way. Dean would tell _him_ to lie on the bed and take his pleasure in Castiel’s body. He’d say …

“Good little angel.”

Crowley’s returned, and he surveys Castiel in satisfaction. Takes in the sight of Castiel’s wrists, bound just as he’d left them, skin beginning to turn red where Castiel had tried to struggle before giving up in futility. The sight of Castiel’s eyes, lust-blown, the pulse beating in his chest, of his swollen cock begging for attention.

Castiel glares at him. _Get on with it,_ his eyes order silently.

Clearly, Crowley’s at the end of his own patience, because he doesn’t point out who should be giving orders. Instead, he settles on Castiel and Castiel hears the clink of something metallic in one of his hands. Crowley leans over, sucks on Castiel’s left nipple, making a shiver run through him. Then there’s a slight biting pain as he feels something digging into him. He glances down, notices the small metallic thing was a clamp, then moves his eyes to Crowley, who performs the same motion with the other nipple. The sensation is pleasant at first, just on the right side of painful in his aroused state.

Crowley eases down his body slowly and Castiel lets his legs fall open, welcoming. “Whore,” Crowley mutters in approval. Castiel’s cock twitches. He doesn’t have the patience for playing this game any longer- he just doesn’t, screw angelic restraint- and neither does Crowley. He can see the demon struggling, the way he’s trying to contain himself as his fingers find their way inside with agonizing slowness.

The entire thing is slow and dragged out and Castiel could just scream – he doesn’t care if he’d break a few lightbulbs in the process. He wants it and he wants it _now,_ he wants to be _used_ and _fucked_ and he doesn’t care that it’s a demon doing it; he wants it and he wants Crowley to do it. But Crowley, who always finds a way to twist what he wants into what he doesn’t want, who holds what he wants right in front of him and gives him exactly the opposite, takes his goddamn time. He’s using Cas exactly the opposite of how the angel wants to be used and there isn’t a fucking thing Cas can do about it. Each thrust seems slower than the last .Castiel thought he’d been used before, but no, _that_ he could enjoy. This, _this,_ was being used, Crowley taking him so slowly he could scream.

Cas glares at him. Crowley evidently understands, because he smirks.

“Another lesson well learned, Cas,” he says, continuing the slow pace.

Castiel forces himself to breath patiently. _I’m learning,_ he thinks to himself, though he knows attempting to placate his adamant desire is nearly impossible. The clamps are digging into his skin and the pain is slowly building from pleasant to not-so-pleasant, which would be all right if he had something else besides frustration to distract himself from it.

“Son of a bitch,” Castiel mutters.

Crowley chuckles and comes inside him with the same calm. This infuriates Castiel and a lightbulb does blow up somewhere.

Crowley hums in approval. He leans in and drags one of the clamps off, also with agonizing slowness that his tender body feels ten times more. “My angel,” Crowley whispers into his ear as he does so. Then he proceeds to the second nipple, but this time the word he uses to accompany the motion is “whore” and Castiel comes all over himself.

…..

“Well, Castiel, I think you pass the class. Would you like a certificate?”

Castiel cocks his head and looks at Crowley.

“You did quite well, angel.” Crowley moves closer, runs a hand down Cas’ cheek – Cas doesn’t even flinch. “It’s been enjoyable, darling.”

There’s a silence.

“You’ve fulfilled this half of the contract, and I’m satisfied. Now see that you fulfill the other half and find Purgatory,” Castiel orders.

“Of course, my angel.”

**Epilogue**

“Better?”

Hell yes, Dean thinks, even though he knows that the clothes don’t make the man – or, in this case, angel. He’s thankful when Sam leaves. He gets up and puts his arms around Castiel again, presses him close and holds on for dear life. “I’ve missed you, Cas,” Dean murmurs, not letting go. He doesn’t think he could ever let go. Castiel needs to be his, in his arms, forever. Time passes around them, but where Dean’s body meets Castiel, there is no time. There is just them, together.

“Never again,” he whispers. “Don’t leave me ever again.” He pulls away just slightly to look into Castiel’s eyes, hands still holding Cas like he’s holding on to the last piece of driftwood in a storm. There’s sadness in Cas’ eyes, the same kind of sadness he’d seen by the stream in Purgatory, but also, undeniably, love. Dean closes the distance between them, kissing Cas gently, their kiss a remembered tenderness. It’s slow, full of longing and memory and yet hope. When Dean pulls away he presses their foreheads together and whispers “Never again.”

Castiel drops to his knees. It’s all he can do. It’s all that seems right. He had thought he had sacrificed all for the best of this man, but he was mistaken. There was only worship and penance left to right those wrongs.

“Cas?” Dean’s just as surprised as he was the last time Castiel knelt. Castiel had presumed to be Dean’s God once, but he knew, now, that their places were reversed. Kneeling here was his place, not Dean’s.

“Let me worship you,” Castiel whispers. “Please, Dean, I beg you, let me – “

“Cas, it doesn’t have to be like this- “

“ _Please,_ Dean…” That word breaks him. He doesn’t question. If Castiel wants this he must know what he’s getting into.

Slowly, Castiel unzips Dean’s jeans, takes out his length and brings it to fullness. He takes Dean fully in his mouth and Dean sputters in surprise. “Cas – what – “ but then Castiel starts moving and Dean’s words metamorphose into sounds of pleasure. Castiel uses all the tricks he’s learned, except that they’re not tricks, they’re prayers; tricks was simply a word Crowley used. He worships Dean’s body as Dean had worshipped him, and he knew it was good. His tongue writes out his prayers and his hands complete them, and soon Dean is coming. He lets out a warning “Cas” but Castiel ignores it; he closes his eyes and drinks it all down, even licks his lips, before looking up at Dean. Dean’s eyes are wide, lust-blown, surprised. He hardly moves when Castiel zips him back up and rises gracefully.

“Where…dude, where did you _learn_ that?” Dean asks.

“I – “

Castiel looks away. He cannot answer Dean. In all of his months with Crowley, he had thought only of Dean. Every time he had closed his eyes he had thought of Dean, of Dean’s pleasure, of Dean’s desires, but here, faced with Dean, he could not bring himself to answer.

Dean senses something is wrong. “Cas?” he asks. “was it…did somebody…it couldn’t have been Daphne- but who else would make – “ he stops, at a loss for both words and ideas.

“Nobody took advantage of me, Dean. I wanted to learn…” he pauses. This is hard. He can’t quite get the words out. He never really could, when it came to Crowley.

“Cas,” and Dean’s alarmed now, hands almost clenching into fists. “ _Who?_ ”

He looks away, unable to face Dean. “Crowley.”

“ _Crowley?”_

 _Look me in the eye and tell me you’re not working with Crowley._ The words echo in Dean’s mind. Dean closes his eyes to shut it out, to shut it all out, but all it leaves him with is himself, the one who broke the first seal, who failed at everything. He struggles to breathe, wills his heart not to break into a thousand pieces that will cut their way out of his chest and leave his lifeless body on the floor.

 “Dammit, Cas, _why?”_ he asks bitterly. “Was I not good enough? Did you want more? Was it so bad you had to go choose a demon over me?”

It’s funny, sometimes, how two beings that complete each other so fully can misunderstand each other so completely, Castiel thinks bitterly.

“Dean…no. I went to Crowley because – because I wanted to learn. For you. I wanted to be able to return what you gave me, to worship your body as you worshipped mine.”

Dean stares at him, and then his face breaks and Castiel understands, just now, the true intricacies that he had so spectacularly missed. Humans were so strange, so difficult to comprehend, even after all this time, Castiel thinks, if it took him this long to grasp the meaning behind the word “mutual.”

“Dammit, Cas, I would’ve…” Dean trails off, but Castiel understands. He understands how Dean had wanted to be both his first and his only. He can read the desire in Dean’s face, the desperate longing desire for all of the looks of surprise and discovery on Castiel’s face, the ones he'll never see because Crowley laid claim to them long ago. He had known sex was human; he had known it was what humans did. Yet he had also known that it was an act of worship, that it was how humans made each other into gods and worshipped one another. A demon deserved no part in that worship, for a demon could not have faith in things that were good. A demon could go through the motions, but it would never mean anything. And Castiel had given it all away, everything that it could ever mean.

“I’m sorry.” Castiel says quietly. He feels like a traitor again. “Dean, I’m sorry.” Castiel would kneel again to beg forgiveness, but he has tainted the acts of penance and worshipped a false god. _Thou shalt not worship false idols,_ he knows, but he has; he has knelt before another and sinned and he has blasphemed and the words of worship mean nothing once they have been said in blasphemy.

“Hey.” Dean takes Cas’ hands into his and looks up at him. It takes him a while to say it, but say it he does. “It’s okay, Cas. It’s okay. Maybe this means you can be the one to teach me a thing or two.” Dean smiles, though there’s no crinkles at the corners of his eyes. “You’re still my Cas.”

But Castiel thinks sadly of all the wings burned into the ground in Heaven, he thinks of the time he had tried to be God, and he thinks of the time he had knelt before a false god, and he thinks sadly that he is a far cry from the angel who was once Castiel. Dean’s Castiel….he does not known in which of his many deaths Dean’s Castiel died, but he thinks that the one who came back is a different Castiel. One not worthy of being Dean Winchester’s.

“Dean,” Castiel says quietly. “I’m sorry. I’ve done wrong. If you want to – “

It takes Dean a few seconds to comprehend. He stares at Cas, then blanches at the suggestion.

“What? Cas, no, why would I ever want to hurt you?” Castiel looks at him sadly. Dean shakes his head.

“Crowley’s done a number on you, didn't he?” Dean asks quietly.

Castiel looks up at him gingerly.

Dean takes Castiel’s face into this hands and looks into the angel’s eyes. “Cas. I would never hurt you. Even if I’m angry or upset, that doesn’t mean I get to take it out on you, you understand? No matter what anybody says.”

He pauses and looks at Castiel. Castiel looks back at him.

“I’ve gotten so used to doing everything that you ask, Dean. To obeying you. That’s what Crowley taught me. To obey. I’m not sure I know how to do anything else, Dean. It was all for you and because of you, even if it wasn’t exactly what you told me to do.”

Now Dean’s exasperated.

“Cas. I’m not God, all right? Actually, it’s probably a pretty shitty job and he seems to fail at doing it, so thank God. I’m just me. You don’t have to obey my every word. You can, you know, make your own choices sometimes.” He pauses. “Unless you decide to leave me again. Don’t you fucking dare, you understand?” he adds.

Castiel nods.

“Yes, Dean.” 


End file.
